The Lovers in Rossford
EIGHT
SEX AND LOVE AND SEX
There was a little café on the first floor of the Music Hall, and Radha had been there in her last year at Loretto, when they were just building it. Now, nearly seven years down the road she was here for a second time, looking around and thinking that if she were the kind of girl who gave a goddamn, she might feel a little out of place.
When she turned her head she looked out of the long windows to see kids walking up and down the quad and across them, Lewis Hall, red bricked and happy. This was an easy campus. This was a place for people who had learned to smoke pot and chill the fuck out a long time ago, and these were kids who were never going to lead a stressful life. Really, she thought, Loretto was the best thing that could happen to an eighteen year old.
When she turned around, here was Chad, and he was rushing a little bit, the lapels of his jacket sticking up. She thought, and realized she’d always thought it¸ that Chad was sort of adorable.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be late.”
“You’re not late,” Radha said, looking at her watch. “I’m early.”
He sat down, and she reached over and grabbed his hand. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
“I believe you,” he said, grinning.
“I missed my friend. You should never have left.”
“There was really no way I could have stayed.”
“Where’d you go last night?” Radha said. And then she added, “Unless you don’t want to tell me.”
“No, I’ll tell you.” Chad shrugged. “I was with Kenny. I hadn’t seen him, and he looked so down, and I was feeling down too.”
“Yeah, but I thought you might come back to the house after a while.”
Radha’s voice drifted off, and she looked at Chad, who was a little flushed.
“What?” she said.
“I was with Kenny all night.” Radha blinked.
“Do you mean… No, nevermind, you don’t have to tell me.”
“I don’t mind telling you,” Chad said. “I just don’t want you telling anyone else. And it’s not because I’m ashamed,” he pressed on, though his face was pink. “Because I’m not. It’s just….It’s private, and Kenny may not want everyone to know. You know?”
Radha nodded.
“Are you all... seeing each other or...? No, I’m being naïve. It’s really not my business.”
“I don’t know what happened,” Chad said. “We’re not dating, I mean. Maybe it was a one time thing. We just… I was feeling really attracted to him, and he’s always been really attractive. We were just really connecting, and it had been a long time since either one of us had…” Chad looked around the café while murmuring this, and then said, “You know, so… We did. And when it was over Kenny was like, ‘I was scared this would ruin things between us,’ and I told him I thought the same thing, and he asked if I wanted to sleep with him, and I said yes.”
Chad said all of this slowly and somewhat awkwardly, his face going from shades of pink to pale.
“So we spent the night together.”
“I don’t want to make it more than it was—”
“And I don’t either,” Chad said.
“I know,” Chad said, folding his hands together.
“Kenny’s a very nice guy, and I think he’s been lonely with Brendan. From what I hear. It would be nice if you could be something to each other.”
Radha stopped talking because she could see that Chad was trembling and looking inexpressibly happy. He was feeling the same way.
“It’s just… it was so perfect last night. I felt so… not afraid. I loved it. I don’t want to crowd him, but I do want to see him again.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Chad admitted: “I don’t know.”
On the morning of the Jewish New Year, Todd stood at the bema, for once in an immaculate black suit, the white kipa knit Fenn had bought him on his head. As Todd was reading, Lane Brown and her husband came behind him, and on the last sentence they lightly dropped a great blue and white tallit around his shoulders. When he finished, Todd took the tassels in his right hand, and touched them to the last word. When he bent to kiss the tassel, Fenn surprised himself by doing the same, and then Todd, grinning at him, chanted:
“BA-RUCH A-TA A-DO-NAI E-LO-HAY-NU ME-LECH HA-O-LAM, A-SHER NA-TAN LA-NU TO-RAT E-MET V'CHA-YAI O-LAM NA-TA B'TO-CHAY-NU. BA-RUCH A-TA A-DO-NAI NO-TAYN HA-TO-RA.”
“Now,” Fenn whispered, walking with Todd to the other side of the bema, as the next aliyah was called, “you are a man.”
Dylan always felt a little strange at the synagogue, but not like he did in church, because it seemed as if many people here felt a little strange. Catholicism was somewhere in his parents and he knew the Mass well. He’d even gone through Confirmation to please Tom. The whole time the bishop’s representative— not even the real bishop—prayed over him and anointed his head, he waited for fire from heaven or for the sizzling of the oil, for something in that church to announce that he was anything, but innocent, a fourteen year old who had not only engaged in group sex, but was sleeping with a college professor for trumpet lessons. Nothing had made him feel more soiled than his Confirmation and Tom, misunderstanding his son’s face after it had happened, said, “I never knew you’d be so touched.”
Judaism, where no one directly spoke of God, where the crazy passion for Jesus and the almost macabre love of God was replaced by a clean, liberal, social club atmosphere, was easier for Dylan, namely because it didn’t touch him. Rosh Hoshanah at Or Chadash was a million miles from the rich stuff of Fiddler on the Roof or The Chosen. Next to Saint Barbara’s, Or Chadash was, frankly, dull.
Of course, his family was on the fringes, and intentionally so. Over in the corner were Joe and Marty, the other gay couple at the synagogue, in matching suits and cul-de-sac expressions. Cul-de-sac expression was a term Dylan had invented, and Fenn thought it was incredibly witty, so he kept using it. Whatever Fenn and Todd were was what Marty and Joe were not. Todd always had rumpled suits if he had any at all, and Fenn stayed in the background, coming in and out of the shul with no desire to play the good Jewish wife. So on the day of Todd’s bar mitzvah, it was strange to see him and Fenn at the center of this gathering, and from the look on Todd’s face, it was strange for him too.
“What are you doing?” Tara asked Dylan.
“Observing,” he told her. He’d been surprised at her appearance.
“In the face and in the body Tom,” Tara said. “But the rest of you is pure Fenn.”
This made Dylan incredibly proud, but all he did was smile and shrug which, he imagined, was pure Fenn as well.
When he looked back to the table, Todd was stuck chatting with a few people, and Lane Brown sat down at the table, but Fenn had gone.
“I don’t know,” Tara said, when Dylan asked where Fenn was, she answered, “He’s all over the place. A lot like Maia. Where is she?”
“I’ll look for them both,” Dylan said, though he really only intended to search for his father.
“Hey, Sport, where you off to?”
“You’re not the father I was looking for,” Dylan told Tom as they met in the entrance to the auditorium.
“He’s with Laurel,” Tom said. “They went that way—”
Dylan nodded, and as he headed through the kitchen into the lobby, Tom said, “Dylan?”
“Yeah?”
“You need to talk?”
Instead of saying, “About what?” Dylan figured the best answer was: “Yes.”
“All right,” said Tom. “Tonight?”
“Yeah.”
Dylan was lucky in parents and, he reflected, the old man had given him great genes. He didn’t have Tom’s curly hair anymore because at thirteen he’d finally shaved it off when he realized how unruly it was. It took a lot of effort to transform his father from something mad looking to the wavy haired beauty everyone knew.
When he saw Laurel and Fenn walking down the hall, he hung back and he waited until Fenn kissed his niece on the head, and then she headed toward the lobby. Fenn was coming back toward him, and looked surprised when he saw Dylan.
“Is something wrong with Laurel?”
“Yes,” Fenn said.
“What?”
“Don’t look at me,” Fenn shoved him gently in his cousin’s direction, “Go and ask her.”
Dylan nodded, and walking away from the party down the hall that led out of the entrance of the synagogue, he went to ask her.
Dylan wasn’t a shouter, so he jogged down the hall until she turned around and saw him.
“Where are you going?” “Home.”
“What’s going on with you?” Dylan said.
“Whaddo you mean?”
“I just mean I always tell you what’s going on with me, and you don’t tell me if anything’s happening with you.” He caught his cousin’s hand. “Come on.”
“Dylan, compared to the drama of your life, it’s nothing.”
“Funny, I didn’t know it was a contest. And all my drama is self inflicted anyway.”
“It was only Jack Warren,” she said. “And I feel like a fool.”
They were in the grey lit lobby of the synagogue, and Layla sat down on a bench beside the potted plant.
“I just wanted a little adventure in my life. I wanted to be… maybe... a little bit like you.”
“You don’t want to be like me,” Dylan said.
“I don’t want to be your supporting cast member, though.” she said.
He looked at her.
“And I don’t want to be a virgin for the rest of my life.”
“Am I missing something?” Dylan said.
“You didn’t sleep with Jack Warren?” he whispered, sounding scandalized.
“No!” Laurel almost shouted.
“Good, cause he’s eighteen.”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“Do you have any idea what that sounds like coming from you?”
“Just cause I’m a dumb slut doesn’t mean you should be.”
“Who told you that?” Laurel said. “Who called you that?”
“No one. Nobody has too. What else do you call a kid so horny he starts having sex at thirteen behind his parents’ backs? The parents who love him? Who… had an affair with a guy who was seventeen and… does other things that he really just does not feel free to talk about.”
Laurel kept looking at him.
“I’m doing it again,” Dylan said. “Making it about me when it’s about you. Tell me about Jack Warren.”
He said this last so forcefully that his cousin nodded.
“No, you’re not,” Dylan told her. “You’re the only one here who isn’t. I just… Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
“You had other things to worry about.”
It hurt when she said that, and he was surprised how much it hurt. He was surprised that his eyes were suddenly hot and he had to run the back of his hand across them.
“Do I bitch that much? Am I… Do I do so much stupid shit that you don’t think there’s time in my life to listen to my own best friend?”
Laurel looked at him.
“You’re… ” he started, then made a chopping motion and started over. “Look, with all that stuff I’ve done, you’re the most important part of my life, and… you can’t just hide shit like that from me. Alright?”
Laurel nodded.
“All right then,” Dylan said.
He was aware of how much he’d edited. He could never tell Laurel about the night in California with Robb and Kirk. He couldn’t talk about Nick Ferguson, and it didn’t have anything at all to do with shame. While he and Laurel were sitting there in the quiet of the synagogue lobby and, outside, a few cars ran up and down East Demming, Dylan realized that he actually was ashamed of some of the things he had done. He wanted them locked up tight. But in this case he wanted them locked up tight because they took attention from his cousin, and made her think that her ordinary life, the sensible one that kept her head high and him from falling apart, just didn’t matter.
“So it’s finally a done deal after all this time,” one woman said when she came up to where Todd, Will and Layla were sitting.
“It’s actually been a done deal for a while,” Todd tried to smile.
“But of course.”
“Are such things done?” the woman wondered.
“Well,” Layla, who couldn’t remember all of the rules in Judaism, and didn’t care said, “I guess they are now.”
“I’m Rose,” the woman said.
“I’m Layla.”
“What do you do?”
“Well, I’m here for my uncle’s bar mitzvah, and in the outer world… I do a lot of everything.”
“She’s a poet,” Will said frankly.
“Really?”
“She just had her first show last night, and she’s been invited to a poetry festival on the other side of the state in a few days.”
“Oh, my well… Layla?”
“Lawden,” Will filled in before Layla could say it.
“I’m afraid I haven’t read anything by you.”
“Don’t be afraid,” Layla said.
“Yeah,” Will added. “Just read something, instead.”
“Those are his sentiments, not mine.” Layla told Rose.
“Well,” Rose had a sad and sympathetic look on her face, “I hope that works out for you.”
She smiled and was gone while Todd made a “Bleck” noise.
“Why do people always say things like that?” Todd wondered.
“Because most people have no concept of doing what they love,” Layla replied simply. “Church people especially, and synagogue or not, these are church people.”
“I wonder what they see when they see you?” Will said with a grin.
“Who cares? I think when people look at other people, they’re really just seeing themselves. And Americans don’t really know what to with art, anyway, or even entertainment. They just think it’s product. So they see me, and think, ‘I’m not consuming her. I must apologize. She must want to be consumed.’ That poor woman has no idea that when I write it has nothing to do with her.”
“I have felt like that whenever I tell people anything,” Todd admitted. “People…” he shook his head and waved as Fenn approached. “They don’t know what to say, usually because they don’t have anything to say. So you just have to smile politely.”
“What’s this about smiling politely?” Fenn asked, sitting at the table.
“Do you ever smile politely for people who say silly things?” Will asked.
“I don’t smile politely for anything,” Fenn said. “I’m too old.”
“Really?” Todd reached over with a long arm and cuffed him. “What was your excuse thirty years ago?”
“Todd, you know I’ve been too old since I was about seventeen.”
Fenn leaned over and pointed across the room, “So how is our Kenneth?”
“Down in the dumps, and then last night Chad showed up to the reading and they left together?”
“Do we care what happened after that?” Fenn said.
“Not really,” Layla and Todd said together.
“I care,” Will said weakly. “A little.”
Layla shrugged and Todd said to her, “So when did I become your uncle?”
“About twenty years ago when you had that big gay wedding at the Episcopal church. Remember? If you were Fenn’s wife, you would be my aunt, right? So it stands to reason.”
“Um,” Todd said, as Tara approached with Maia, “So does that make Maia your cousin?”
“Of course.”
“And Dena?”
“According to that woman last night,” Will said, “It makes them soul sistahs.”
“See, Will,” Layla told him, “it’s funnier when I do it.”
“Actually it’s not funny at all,” Fenn said.
“Thanks for making me feel great,” Will told him.
Fenn smiled, and stirred his cup of coffee. “It’s what I live for.”